


Close Quarters

by lousy_science



Series: The Does What it Says on the Tin series [1]
Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 16:52:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11855757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lousy_science/pseuds/lousy_science
Summary: Bunk smut.





	Close Quarters

Collins switched the lights off first. Farrier smiled into the dimness. This little shed at the edge of the airstrip was their domain, a privilege of the fliers, just basic bedding and a wash basin. They ate well, too, here at base, and those Army boys would call it la-di-dah. Farrier didn't feel as home here as he did up there, in the cockpit, but he appreciated it. 

He appreciated Collins's diligence in all things. Lights off first, teeth brushed, shoes shined and tucked beneath the bunk. The kid was a quick study, and eager; sunny in the morning, and, Farrier had learned, warm and pliant. It had been a few weeks since Farrier had offered to help him relax, something to do instead of reading those Zane Grey novels or doing crosswords. 

The covers were already pulled down, and Farrier tugged him in snug alongside him. Collins was all arms and lips, not much trace of the blushing hesitance of less than a month ago. Farrier would have taken more time, if they'd had it, before introducing the slick of Vaseline on his fingers, given Collins a more thorough education. A more gentle one. But this was what they had. 

Rolling over Collins, Farrier framed his shoulders with his arms, answering him with kisses, rubbing a cheekful of stubble over Collins's babyface, looking forward to seeing it pink up in tomorrow's morning light. He pressed him down and Collins raised up his chest to rub it against Farrier's. Hungry noises came from his throat - a puppy, wanting to tussle, wanting attention, completely trusting - and Farrier licked down his jaw and neck, bit at his shoulder. Steady on, lad. You're in good hands. But keep it down, he thought, just in case someone on duty passed by and got a little too intrigued. 

Tucking his hands under the band of Collins's underwear, he grabbed a handful of arse, and growled at him to take them off. Hitching up on his shoulders, Collins pulled his legs free, Farrier not giving him quite enough space to maneuver. 

"There," and the pants were thrown aside. 

Farrier growled at the invite, and leaned back in to bite his other shoulder. He was so earnest, ridiculous with it, and if Farrier had to think about that, his whole stomach ached like he was hollow inside. So he took his tenderness out on the body underneath him, pinching nipples, flicking the head of Collins's cock ("Ow! Please, Farrier..."), squeezing his balls. The little curls of hair, as cheerful and blond as the rest of him, weaved between his fingers. Once Farrier had woken up with one lodged in his thumbnail, which he'd waved at Collins over breakfast. Farrier shook with suppressed laughter at the memory of Collins looking horror-struck and pale. 

Pushing Collins's trembling thighs open, Farrier paused to grip their cocks together for a few seconds, then pulling his hand up and over them in a rough twist. He wished he could see more of Collins, make out the exact shape of his mouth as he held the moans in his chest. Still making noise, but so quiet, they were only for Farrier. 

Fingers moved over Farrier's chest as he grabbed the tin from under the pillow. Impatient finger taps, hands moving up to hold his shoulders. Farrier bent his head to drop a quick kiss on a blood-hot temple, "Good, lad."

His hands moved between them, fingers stretching down, and Collins, always the excellent pupil - probably had been a prefect, the swot - tilted his hips up to help. The landscape of his body, even the secret fold between his legs, was all mapped in Farrier's head, a topography of pleasure and release. Running his fingertips to the tight hole, he pressed in, the muscles giving way to pressure and Vaseline, just like a well-oiled engine. 

Collins had wrapped his legs around Farrier's waist. Farrier moved his hand aside, wiped it quick on the sheets, and lifted Collins's left leg to hook over his shoulder. It took a little shuffling, but he lined the two of them up. He pushed in quickly so as to not draw out the hardest part. Collins yelped, but only a little, and the hands on Farrier's shoulders were pulling him close. 

When Farrier rode his motorcycle, his favourite moment was take off - between the firing of the cylinders and the tyres scrambling forward to get purchase on the ground. He felt like that, pumping into Collins, that lovely arse stretched around him, his good boy, his wings, under and around him. The bunk frame creaked with the two of them as Farrier hauled himself up, knees on the scratchy woolen blanket, Collins with his back curled up under him. Farrier cupped his shoulderblades with his hands and thrust one, two times. His release came suddenly. Between them he felt his heart beat with it, coming from his balls, into the silky grip of Collins, heating up the hottest part of his body. 

Sweat soaked his brow, and he rested his head on Collins's chest. "Mmmm," he hummed into his breastbone. 

He could feel Collins still hard beneath him, his hard prick pushing into his gut. Patience, Farrier believed, should be rewarded. Bending his head down, he released the legs that had been twisted around him, and let Collins splay his knees as far as the narrow bunk would allow. Wrapping his lips around the head of his cock, he let out a loud slurp, which made Collins cough and laugh and jerk his legs, all at once. 

Pulling off, Farrier laid a hand on the smooth planes of Collins's stomach, and said, "Oi, you kick me in the head, and I'm leaving this."

He wrapped his thumb and forefinger around his erection, and Collins pleaded for mercy. "No, no, but Farrier - _please_."

"Such nice manners." He bent back down, his jaw falling open, taking Collins down as far as he could. Nothing worse, Farrier always thought, than a cold bed the day before a big job. 

Collins twitched his right leg up, like a showgirl practicing her kicks, and flailed his head from side to side. It was always a production with this one. Farrier watched the shape of Collins shoving a fist in his mouth to quell the sounds, and then he tasted the salt of his release as it shot down his throat. 

Everything about him softened, then, his legs hanging off either side of the mattress, the head flopping back on the mattress. Farrier crawled his way back up and reached over Collins's relaxed form to grab a canteen from the side table. Sloshing his mouth out with water, wishing it was whiskey, he eased back around Collins. He knew by now that it wasn't worth the effort to get the kid out of his bed right after, that Collins would wake up for a midnight slash and find his way back to his own mattress. So Farrier made himself comfortable, sliding an arm under Collins and rolling him over to cover his chest. Might as well preserve the body heat. No point in feeling the chill.


End file.
